Refusing to Grow Up

I’m fond of telling my roommate that she’s not a real person. When I asked her how many stuffed animals she owns, she said, “Here? Or at home?” She leaned across her bed to count the pile of lambs, rabbits, and bears that are balanced precariously on her nightstand, coexisting with Japanese hair products, an open box of instant oatmeal, Hello Kitty bandaids, and a frilly hair scrunchie. A Girls Generation poster is half hidden by the wide-eyed, too-soft creatures. “There’s eight. At least. I have so many more at home though! It’s a party.”

I tried very hard to be a stuffed animal kind of person when I was younger and succeeded somewhat, but only because all the cool 2^nd graders had stuffed toys or blankets they couldn’t live without. I still have a dirty stuffed dog (her name was Sweetie) hidden somewhere in my closet that I keep more out of a sense of obligation than for any sentimental reason. But Su Lin has brought her stuffed animals to college and keeps accumulating them.

“I call them my friends. I mean, I have real friends! But I mean I think they are cute and I like cute things and they are soft and I can hug them. They’re like pets but you don’t have to feed them or anything. They all have personalities. Mostly I like big ones because they’re huggable.”

They are all named after food. There’s Tapioca, Poppy, Pudding (because he’s fat), and Pab (which means rice in Korean, and he’s a Korean bunny). Butterscotch and Caramel are at home. Su Lin does have some standards though. She reassures me that people gave her the Minnie and Mickey: “I wouldn’t have bought those myself.” 

We’ve lived together for two years and I’ve become accustomed to the creatures. I wasn’t even surprised when I came home from class one day and there were two large decals of cats on her wall. “I don’t even like cats,” she admitted when I asked about the room’s new occupants.

Tapioca is her favorite. Why? “You know why,” she said. “Tapioca is such an awful food to be named after. When I feel bad for it I love it more.”

Perhaps someday Su Lin will put her “friends” in storage or donate them, but for now I’m glad she keeps them close. She lives in a world of soft, cuddly things, a world where the only feasible sheets to take to college are pink and patterned with white terriers. She has a sizable collection of Disney shot glasses and a pillow with mouse ears. She bought her hamper in the children’s section of Target because—you  guessed it—it’s pink and has petals around the edge like a flower.

Despite the fact that Su Lin is 20 years old (and older than me), she keeps her feet planted firmly in childhood, refusing to grow up. And she won’t, not for a while yet. I hope she drags Tapioca and her children’s hamper to her first apartment and doesn’t let anyone (except for me) tell her that she’s not a real person.